


one golden yesterday

by angelsdemonsducks



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Cry with me, Episode 26, Gen, Introspection, Spoilers, briefly implied widomauk, letting go, what happens after? you decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 00:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15279942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsdemonsducks/pseuds/angelsdemonsducks
Summary: Your name is Mollymauk Tealeaf. And you are loved.You hold on to that, when there is nothing left.





	one golden yesterday

Your name is Mollymauk Tealeaf. And you are loved.

You hold on to that, when there is nothing left.

You don’t regret it, what you do. You face this man, this monster who has stolen your friends, your fledgling family, and you are already so tired, already beaten to hell and back. If you do nothing, he will kill you and all those who you have come to care so desperately for. So you act, and it is a fool’s gamble, and it does not pay off. You know it, you know it as soon as your swords draw blood, as soon as he caves in your ribs, pain bursting through you like the fireworks the circus would sometimes set off in the fading evening light. You can see them now, their colors blooming in the darkened sky, red and blue and white and gold, exploding in your ears and filling you with a pure and innocent joy. When you saw them for the first time, you thought you could die in that moment and be content.

Here is what else you know: you do not want to die.

Once, perhaps, you did. Once, perhaps, after you woke up to dirt filling your mouth and your lungs, after you dragged yourself out of a shallow grave and let the rain wash away the soil and the blood and the empty tears, before you knew what these things were; once, perhaps, you wished you hadn’t, that you had remained in oblivion. Once, perhaps, when you felt empty and hollow and the words fled from your tongue before you could think to give them voice. Once, when you were nameless, nobody, without a past and without a future, without an identity or a self.

Once, perhaps.

No longer.

You are full, now, full of life and love and joy. You wear bright colors and adorn yourself with shiny things that clang and jingle when you move, and you tell lies and stories as easily as breathing, sometimes easier. You have as many words as there are stars scattered in the sky, and you use them well, filling the space where the void once was, banishing the dark to the corners of your mind where you dare not tread. You play with cards and you give away fortunes and you juggle you swords and make your friends smile. And when, after a too-long day or a drink too many, the hollowness comes creeping back in, you take those smiles and the warmth that floods you and use them to mend the cracks that run underneath your surface.

You do not quite know who you are. Not yet. But you know more than you did at the start, and you are comfortable in your skin.

You thought you had more time to find out. Two years doesn’t seem like enough.

Would you have done more, had you known? That it would be over so soon? Would you have changed a thing? Traded one experience for another? Counted the seconds, the hours, the days more closely? Lived more, learned more, loved more?

You love them. Your friends. Your family. You love them so much. If love could stave off death, you would live two eternities.

You will miss them. You know they will miss you. You hope that no one cries.

Will this body stay dead, you wonder? Will it stay buried? Or will someone else come to fill the empty space, making your body their own? As you replaced the one who was before, perhaps you will be replaced in turn. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, a life come full circle. Perhaps it was a mistake not to seek out your past. Now, faced with the end, you know nothing more than you did at the start. You do not know if a stranger will hijack your skin, ripping away all that was you and making it them, or if you will be food for maggots instead, if you will rot away until nothing remains of you but your bones and two years of snatched time, faded like wilted leaves.

You hope that whoever comes after you, if such a person will be, will take care of your friends. Will cherish them as you did. Will protect them. Will succeed where you have failed.

Two years. It doesn’t seem fair. You had so much more to do. There is an entire world out there that you have not seen, a hundred thousand things that you will never get to try. It came too quickly. You aren’t ready to go.

Dimly, you hear shouting. Your friends. You love your friends. You open your mouth to tell them so, to tell them sorry, to tell them to kick ass and raise hell and to not stop until this bastard is dead and they have reclaimed their own. Your mouth is full of blood, and you choke on it, its poisonous iron tang slipping down your throat and smothering the words into silence, just as they were so long ago.

Two years. Not long ago at all.

You gather your energy and spit your blood, your life, into his face. It feels a little bit like a victory. One last act of defiance.

You defy this world. You have always defied this world, just by existing. You stand firm in the face of whispers and stares, you fly your colors proudly, you hold your head high. _What is that?_ they ask and usher their children away, and you answer: _I am myself._ You refuse to be anyone different. You defy a world that would call you a monster, that would ask you to change.

You are yourself. No one else.

The night grows darker. Yasha sharpens her sword, her presence beside you strong and steady and familiar. Beau claps you on the back, indignant, grinning. Nott takes a swig from her flask, Jester sketches with a smile, Fjord keeps watch, protective and sure. Caleb lights a fire with words and a gentle snap of his fingers, and his cautious smile lights another, this one under your veins and in your heart.

You thought you’d have more time.

Toya’s voice rises above the crackling flames, soothing the pounding in your ears. Sweet and lilting, mournful and sad, she sings the sun to sleep.

Your name is Mollymauk Tealeaf. You are loved, and you love in return.

You hold on to that.

Then there is nothing left.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think this is the end for Molly. We still know nothing about his past, and I can't imagine Taliesin and Matt want to let go of this character so soon in the campaign. So I have hope that everything's going to be okay.
> 
> But there's always the chance that it won't be. Molly might be permanently dead. We can't know yet. So this was me trying to prepare myself for that possibility. Molly means a lot to me, both as a character and for what he represents, so if this is it, he deserves a proper send-off. I'm not going to be over this anytime soon, but I hope this fic helps.
> 
> Goodbye, Mollymauk Tealeaf, you glorious, glorious bastard.


End file.
